


Whispered Words

by Marin



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Master/Servant, Mind Control, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marin/pseuds/Marin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is Master thinking of when he lies on top of me telling me I'm doing it wrong, that my blond hair is much too short?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispered Words

**Author's Note:**

> My take on a prompt everyone's been tackling since the movie came out.

It was absolutely dreadful to think of the place in this manner, and he was sure his master would not have approved of it, but Clint could not help thinking of their base as the “Evil Lair.” That was what it looked like, at least: located below the surface, humid and dingy. The scientists were employed in a project that involved such unstable radiation that a simple drop of a vial meant destruction. It begged the question: couldn't Loki have put a little effort into purchasing extra light bulbs?

 

They were all their master's puppets anyway. It wouldn't have been any effort at all on Loki's part.

 

Even though he knew this would lead to a decrease in productivity that his master most likely disapproved of, Clint stopped checking off items on the tablet and let his thoughts wander for a moment. He might have been a puppet like the rest of them, but he did not feel like a slave. This work was more important to him than anything he had done in the past. The Tesseract had opened his eyes, showed how Hawkeye had picked all the wrong battles. He had been surrounded by incompetent people who brought him no purpose and most certainly no glory _._

 

Glory. Clint didn't think he had ever used the word before and he was only beginning to grasp its meaning. He steadied the tablet in his grasp and stared at the checklist. Why did something like this have him feeling accomplished? Clint gasped as his heart skipped a beat. Master was approaching!

 

Clint looked up at the random scientists and yelled at them to work harder, faster, and they scrambled all over the place, yet did increase their pace. He just wanted to please Master.

 

“Agent Barton,” Loki called, walking slowly to stand beside Clint, “May we have a word?”

 

“Absolutely, sir,” Clint answered promptly, putting his hands and the tablet behind his back and standing very straight.

 

“In private, perhaps?” added Loki with a raise of his eyebrows and a cordial wave of his hand towards the Room.

 

Clint nodded without a word and started following his master. Inside, however, he was filled with conflicting emotions. Whereas a part of him had always wished to be asked into the Room, the section of the “evil lair” that Master had made entirely off-limits, his training and common sense told him there was something hazardous in there. Anyone who had ever been asked into the Room had not often return, for starters, but the ones who did came back...  _different_ .

 

Clint watched the startled looks of the others as he walked by. They seemed to also have mixed feelings. Some looked away as soon as they noticed where Clint was headed, while others were unable to contain their jealous looks.

 

The doorway was completely dark as Loki walked in, but as soon as Clint took his first step inside he found he could finally see a bit with aid of a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The Room turned out to not be much bigger than ten square feet with no furnishing save for a simple wooden table and one lonely chair in one of the corners, which Loki had taken for himself, sitting with his legs spread out unceremoniously, the scepter laid out across his knees.

 

Loki snapped his fingers and the door slammed shut. “Now that we are alone,” Loki began, “I can ask you how much longer this is going to take.”

 

“My previous calculations still remain, sir,” Clint said proudly. “We are on schedule, sir, if not moving faster than expected. We are estimating near completion within 10 to 11 hours.”

 

Loki grumbled approvingly under his breath. He looked up and straight into Clint's eyes. Clint felt an urgency to avert his gaze, but his eyelids seemed to have become permanently stuck, open wide. Clint's mind, open wide for prodding.

 

Clint felt desperate. He suddenly wanted work even harder because he had something to prove to... whom? To master? Clint felt pride swelling up in his chest. He was a disciplined soldier who never missed his mark. Did other people know this? Did they fear him? Nick Fury had not, but maybe he should have.

 

Clint finally managed to blink.

 

“I am pleased with your work, Agent Barton,” said Loki. His eyes had never left Clint. Loki stared at him intensely, up and down, as if undressing Clint down to his soul. “ _Very_ pleased indeed.”

 

It had been years, decades, since Clint had felt this happy and whole. The last time had been when he was four and still thought an orphanage was the same as a home, that he had the same chances of a normal life as a kid with a normal family. One of the couples who had just adopted a little girl gifted him with a toy, and Clint had loved it so much he couldn't contain it. Clint had his brother, but for that day he sincerely felt his toy was what he loved most in the world. They would be together forever.

 

As Clint basked in this memory, he tried to fish out what the toy had been. It was an animal, he remembered. Was it a dinosaur? No, he wouldn't have loved a myth. Clint almost let a smile slip his lips. He remembered it now: it had been a big, fluffy goat.

 

“In fact, I think it suitable that I show you my greatest appreciation, Agent Barton,” Loki announced.

 

Clint startled. “No, sir! That's not necessary,” he hastened to assure Master.

 

Loki ignored him and, with a wave of his hand, the room started changing. The walls began to emanate golden light and expand. The light bulb twisted in on itself and turned into a golden chandelier. Loki's chair grew bulkier and into the shape of a large golden throne. The Room, as it turned out, was Master's bedroom. The walls were lined with endless rows of books and complemented by a broad, wooden writing desk piled high with books and pieces of parchment scribbled in languages Clint could not immediately decipher. On the far right corner lay a four poster bed, made up perfectly and seemingly untouched.

 

“Does it please you?” Loki asked.

 

Clint did not answer. He didn't think 'please' was the right word, much less an emotion that was within his right to feel in Master's presence. Clint turned his attention to Loki. He had not seen Master in his armor, and the sight helped him find the fitting, honest words to say, though they probably would have sounded too juvenile out loud: he was in awe.

 

“We will not be disturbed here,” Loki said, rising to his feet and placing the scepter on the throne. He turned to face Clint. “This room serves two functions. Thankfully to you, Agent Barton, you are the first to see it in its current shape. So, put the human equipment down and come tell me how much you admire me.”

 

Clint lost his grip on the tablet and it fell to the floor with a light, clinking sound that was enough to make any geek weep in despair. To Clint it meant nothing because nothing mattered, except Master. He strode forward towards his master and as he got within a feet of Loki, Clint fell to his knees.

 

“I do not deserve this, sir,” Clint said in a shaky voice.

 

“I do dare say you don't,” Loki said with a grin that showed too much teeth and, instead of actually displaying happiness of approval, gave Master a slightly unbalanced look. “But it is most _convenient.”_

 

Loki waved his hand swiftly, urging Clint to stand and, as he did, Loki closed the gap between them. Loki looked down at Clint, his face merely inches away from his servant's. Clint's pulse quickened and his breath shortened. There was not enough air in the world!

 

Clint instinctively jumped at the feel of metal touching him stomach, right on the exposed flesh above his pants. Loki's eyes went from the small dagger up to Clint's. Hawkeye stepped forward until his body was once again touching the blade. Master only did to his servants what was best for them and for their cause. Clint was in peace.

 

With a slow, light motion, Loki ran his hand from top to bottom through Clint's shirt and the fabric split in half. Without so much as moving up his arms, Clint leaned one way to let one of the sleeves drop, then the other. The vest fell to the ground. Clint's breath was caught in his throat. At any other time of his life he would not have felt comfortable with the way Loki stared at him, but on that particular day there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Being completely exposed in front of his master was intoxicating.

 

“There,” Loki said in a whisper as he grabbed Clint by the waistband of his pants, spun him around and threw him towards the bed like a rag-doll.

 

Clint stumbled slightly out of surprise, but quickly regained his footing and began to back up on the bed until he was sat. He couldn't take his eyes off Loki, striding purposefully toward his servant.

 

Loki pinned his body against Clint's and pushed him down unceremoniously onto the mattress like he wasn't a 200 pound assassin at all. Loki placed his left hand over Clint's mouth and grinned. Loki brought his right hand through Clint's blond, spiky hair and as he got to the nape of Clint's neck he laughed.

 

“You used to say you liked your hair to be at that exact length, just above your shoulders,” Loki said in a mocking tone, words intertwined with laughs. “You said it made you look more like father, remember? I have to admit I liked it better before, when I could...”

 

Loki grabbed a handful of Clint's hair and tugged hard. Clint's yelp was muffled by Loki, left hand pressing harder against Clint's lips. Loki's smile faded into a intense nonchalant expression.

 

“Did I ever tell you how I arrived to the conclusion this is partially my fault? Your grandiosity complex, that is,” Loki rambled on, eyes wider and madder by the second, “You were always so willing to let me take control when we were _alone._ ”

 

Loki leaned down and straddled Hawkeye's waist with a tight grip of his legs, their crotches locked together uncomfortably. The grip of Loki's right hand tightened on Clint's hair as Loki pushed the assassin's head up against his own. Loki brushed his lips against Clint's ear and licked the the lobe of his ear.

 

“Did it emasculate you, brother, our habit of me fucking you in the ass?” Loki whispered at last. “Was it shameful that your little brother could make the _Mighty_ Thor writhe on the bed like a common whore, begging for release?”

 

Clint conceded that the scenario sounded quite shameful, but truth be told he wouldn't have minded being ravished by Loki in the least bit.

 

“Master,” Clint spoke at last. Loki seemed unsettled. His hand over Clint's mouth slid down slightly and he frowned. “You can do to me anything you want. I'm here because I want to serve you, sir.”

 

Loki pulled his hand away completely and let go of Clint's hair. Clint panicked. Had he displeased Master? He had definitely done something wrong and now Master wasn't going to give Clint what he had secretly wanted anymore. Clint looked for words, but his thoughts were mangled, enveloped in a fog of misguided, Tesseract induced lust.

 

Loki sat back up, still straddling Clint's hips. He looked down at this servant, clenched his fist and punched Clint square on the nose.

 

Clint's head snapped to the side, but he did not move it back, allowing his blood to pool on the sheets. He analyzed his master's features from the corner of his eye. The mad desperation in Master's eyes was gone, and the hollow of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes diminished. Master needed this. Clint had actually helped his master!

 

Loki got up and waved his hand. The illusion was gone and Clint found himself stretched out on an uncomfortable wooden table. He ran the back of his hand under his nose and looked at his blood soaked fingers. Loki had already made for the door and stood at the threshold, scepter on one hand, drumming his fingers on the wall with the other.

 

Loki looked back. “Consult the Tesseract. I shall be employed elsewhere for some time and will come to you when it is time,” he said.

 

Hawkeye tried to steady himself on his feet again. He had to fight back the desire to laugh and instead assumed a professional, master assassin-like expression and matching countenance.

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

Master had punched Clint but allowed him to live. Master had touched him, imprinted his personal emotions on Clint's body. Clint felt like he was not  _just_ a blond man that could pass as Loki's brother. Loki had a personal opinion of Hawkeye. And, who knows? Maybe even a lasting memory of him.

 

As soon as Loki was gone, Clint smiled. This was what glory felt like under master Loki's command.

**Author's Note:**

> A little dark, pretty vague, probably not half as good as a lot of the other versions to this prompt that I've seen out there... but just enough to get this idea out of my head. :)


End file.
